


A Star Above The City

by theglamourfades



Category: Ashes to Ashes (UK TV)
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Christmas, F/M, Sharing a Bed, Stranded, that classic trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:03:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglamourfades/pseuds/theglamourfades
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Alex Drake is two hundred miles from home and twenty six years out of time. And there's a snowstorm on the way...two-part Christmassy Galex fluff.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas is my favourite time of year, so I couldn't resist a bit of Galex at Christmas!
> 
> I suppose set during S2...if you ignore the angst of the latter half of the series and forget that Gene ever (accidentally) shot Alex. I just needed to write some fluffy - and eventually sexy - Galex, which meant I had to ditch the canon timeline from mid-way through S2.

Of all the places Alex Drake could have expected to be on Christmas Eve, a hospital room two hundred plus miles away from London was not high on her list.

Still, things could have been much worse, and she consoled herself with the fact that at least she wasn't alone, ruminating on all that she was missing out on.

The good thing about being in the police force in this less-than-modern era and at this time of year was that work was relentless up until almost the stroke of midnight on December 25th. If she was back in 2008 she would have had no problem with hanging up her duties by the 23rd, if not earlier, so that she could devote herself entirely to the other role in her life for the entirety of the season. As it was she was relieved that she could immerse herself in the nitty-gritty details of the lives of London's criminals in all their varieties. She was after a break as much as anyone, and didn't expect anything more taxing than collaring a couple of alcohol-soaked Santas who had run off with the proceeds of the local supermarket's charity collection. Hardly anything that would win her the title of Police Psychologist of the Year, but enough to provide a distraction.

What she hadn't banked on was the jailbreak of Tommy Smithers – otherwise known as 'The Middleton Menace' – who had fled from Belmarsh and was hot-footing it to his home city, intent on settling a few scores before fate inevitably caught up with him. It was hardly a surprise to discover that Gene knew Tommy rather well, and had been responsible for seeing him behind bars in Manchester on more than one occasion before he graduated to the bigger leagues. So there could only be one Detective Chief Inspector to sling Smithers back where he belonged - and give him a few new shining bruises as early Christmas presents while he was at it.

The A Team wasn't assembled; she was lucky enough – or otherwise cursed – to be the only one who Gene had called upon to accompany him back up North in pursuit of Smithers.

" _As much as you'd like to think so, Bolly, my middle name isn't Scrooge,"_  he'd told her when she'd enquired exactly why he wanted her on the case and not Ray and Chris instead, with what she believed to be calm rationality.  _"Besides, as far as I can see, it's not like yer've got anythin' better to do."_

She could have decided to be deeply offended and start another slanging match with him, but not only would it not have been worth it, it would have also shone a spotlight on the painful truth which she wasn't prepared to fully admit to even herself as yet.

Last Christmas had been the first she had spent away from Molly and she had felt the sting in her heart and soul long before the day itself. She was plagued by thoughts of traditions that had once upon a time brought her endless joy – spending hours on her hands and knees in front of the fire wrapping presents (she always went overboard), going to the carol service and midnight mass with Evan, hanging Molly's stocking by the foot of her bed and checking that she was sound asleep before heading to bed herself, filled with a couple of brandies and childish excitement – and felt herself spiralling deeper, headlong into extremes of guilt and sorrow which no amount of wine was able to drown.

She had no notion of how much time had passed in the real world. It could have been nowhere near Christmas, and she hoped for Molly's sake that it wasn't.

She had intended to spend as much of her first Christmas Day in the '80s curled up in bed, pretending that she wasn't there and that it was all a dream – which of course it was, if she thought logically. The memories that were imprinted on her brain had her waking up at not that far past dawn and the first thing she did was sob helplessly, face down into her pillow.

Eventually she had dragged herself up, not bothering to get changed out of her dressing gown, pyjamas and bed-socks, arming herself with whatever bottles were stashed in the fridge. She watched television on a loop, hoping that she might find Molly dancing out of the audience on  _Top of the Pops_ , telling her that everything was going to be alright and that her heart was still beating. When that didn't happen she put on a VHS of one of her favourite films, one that she had seen what felt like hundreds of times. This year it was more bittersweet than she usually found it, tears brimming in her eyes as she identified strongly with the fate of poor George Bailey. If she had never been born then she wouldn't have left someone else so wretched and heartbroken, on her own to survive just as she had once upon a time in a world that seemed as far away as another universe.

Christmas dinner was foregone entirely, in favour of a liquid lunch instead. She was surprised that she was able to stand, opening the door to her flat before another series of thudding knocks could rain down upon it.

" _Flamin' 'eck, you look awful. Get nothin' other than a lump of coal in yer stocking, did yer?"_

" _Merry Christmas to you as well, Guv."_

She snatched the bottle of wine from his hand, wandering in search of the corkscrew and leaving Gene to his own devices, striding behind her. They ended up on the sofa, the pattern of which hurt her eyes the longer she stared at it and with the more alcohol she consumed.

It wasn't a shock to discover that Gene wasn't an advocate of the festive season, and she listened to him go on about what a load of shit it all was for what seemed like hours, holding herself together stoically. She couldn't even recall afterwards the remark that broke her but she ended up in a heap, blubbering so hard that she could hardly open her eyes. He'd mumbled something, putting down his glass on the coffee table before putting an arm around her, less reluctantly than she might have considered in the circumstances.

" _It's all bollocks, but there's no need for the waterworks, Bols. C'mon, this is me best shirt and yer gunna ruin it with all that mascara dripping down yer face."_

His attempt at a comforting piece of advice didn't have the same effect as the bulk of him nestled to her side. She leant her head against his chest, buried her nose in his shirt. If only his blasted tie wasn't in the way she could have got a better whiff of his 'man-stink', which wasn't as off-putting as it sounded. He smelt delightfully musky and masculine, the expected aromas of cigarette smoke and whisky there but something else surprisingly sweeter lying beneath the surface. If she had to guess she'd imagine that he'd spritzed more than a touch of aftershave on as well.

Her voice came out too high and half-indecipherable, but she knew that she had told him in her sorry state that she missed her little girl. She missed her mum and dad, the grieving she'd had to relive all over again still painfully clear in her senses.

He did nothing but hold her, waiting for the tears to subside and for normal service to resume.

" _If you keep on whingin' like this, yer never gunna get any other yuppie twats to shag yer."_

His hand stroked absent-mindedly upon her back, and not for the first time she felt stirrings within her at the caresses of his fingertips, much gentler than she'd ever imagined – though she had experienced them before.

It was a good job that he wasn't a mind-reader, else he would have been privy to her thoughts that she didn't want to go anywhere near another city boy with red or any other colour braces for as long as she was still there. If she was going to be  _intimate_ with anyone else in this existence there was only one choice, and the realisation no longer shocked her to the core. In fact, it occurred to her that wanting him was quite possibly the only thing that made sense.  _Trust your instincts._

She stopped crying before Boxing Day was ushered in, and they got steadily drunk as the clock ticked round.  _The only way to see out an arsehole of a day_ , as Gene had so eloquently put it, and she felt that she had to agree, even if her head would hate her in the morning.

Of course in actual 1982 she would have been spending Christmas with Evan. Less of a shambles than the first that they had had, just the two of them, as she could recall. He had spoilt her rotten, overcompensating. A half-dozen dolls and a red bike that went almost completely untouched. She still remained fascinated with the Rubix Cube, turning and twisting it in her hands, wondering if there was a way she could take it apart tiny plastic piece by piece and put it back together, as good as new.

Christmas was a time for families, and Gene was the closest to family that she had here. The two of them, as good as alone in this world but for each other. She'd been thinking about it seriously for a week previous, if not a little longer.  _Alright_ ; since the start of the month. She could drop it casually into conversation as the house rubbish flowed between them in Luigi's. A proper Christmas dinner, even with sprouts, and a turkey bigger than the two of them could manage. Pudding with brandy butter, and a cheeseboard. Quite enough booze, of course, but she would be sensible and aim to lead by example, no matter how much he coaxed her.

She'd wear red.  _Festive_. A silky blouse that she hadn't long purchased, just enough buttons left undone so that she could offer him a teasing peek of her bra.  _As much of a grumpy sod that he is, he deserves a present._ Black, she thought, for a contrast. Lacy, with half-cups. Or perhaps she could wear a bustier instead? No, too many clasps, too fiddly. Shit, she was thinking  _way too much_  about this.

They'd end the evening pleasantly merry, some appropriate music playing in the background.  _Sod being Lonely This Christmas._  She'd raise a thumb to his lips, stopping him before he could utter 'Bollykecks', tracing the curve of his mouth in anticipation of feeling it pressed against hers urgently. Staring into his eyes, those pools of blue that absorbed her completely and said so much more than he would ever let on. Like  _I want you, Alex._   _Want you so much that it's fuckin' killing me._

_I know. God, don't I bloody well know._

It would be so much better than a drunken fumble that they both would have sorely regretted if it had actually happened twelve months previously. Every kiss earned, every touch written upon a list. Father Christmas would blush the colour of his suit if he knew what she'd been wishing to get up to with DCI Gene Hunt. Time would slow to a stop, previously unknown, as they became lost, found only to each other. Getting what they deserved.

It was a good job she'd got all of the supplies in before they headed off on the long drive down the M40.

Tommy Smithers wasn't as half as clever as he thought he was, which she could have informed him of if it wouldn't have risked inflaming things even further. Hardly a couple of hours had passed by until they'd tracked him down to a 'hideaway' – his cousin's terraced house in a run-down council estate on the outskirts of Middleton. Nowhere left to run.

" _Yer've been a very naughty boy this year, Smithers. Saint Nick won't be best pleased. And the Gene-Genie is bloody furious..."_

In a frenzy, Tommy had pointed his shooter. First at her, causing her to draw in an unsteady breath.

" _Think about what you're doing, Tommy. If you come quietly, everything will be so much easier."_

She looked at him square in the eyes, trying not to see the face of Layton before her.

" _Just shut up!"_

" _If you think that's gunna make 'er stop, you really are a dumb bastard."_

" _Fuck you, Hunt!"_

Smithers' shaking hands swerved to the left, aiming directly at Gene. She was ready to throw herself into the line of fire as he pulled the trigger, Gene's exasperated and frantic cries of 'Bolly' ringing in her ears before everything went black. As it turned out, Tommy was a terrible shot and instead fired the gun skywards.

" _Bleedin' hell, no wonder your missus left yer. Happy Christmas, Tommy. It's the last you'll see out of bars for a good while."_

She was trembling when they got back to the safety of the Quattro, lying and saying it was to do with the cold. During the drive to the centre of the city she tried to convince him to stop off somewhere to let the shock subside.  _"Gene Hunt does not get shock, and especially not because of twatty twerps like that."_ He wouldn't look at her in the eyes, being unusually conscientious about his driving, and she knew he was covering.

The sky was darkening quickly, the window rolled down on his side letting the freezing air fly into the car. She was about to beg him to shut it when a piercing cry tore through the otherwise silent not-quite-yet night. Gene's eyebrows shot up and he mumbled something about running over a cat. She, however, recognised the emission of such a noise from experience.

The girl had half-fallen into a doorway, surrounded by overflowing binbags, the light from an incredibly bright star overhead bringing her features out of the darkness. Examining her face, twisted in pain, Alex saw that she couldn't have been older than eighteen. Frightened and unsure at first, she grasped firmly onto Alex's hand, yanking her forward as the other hand clutched at the swollen stomach.

" _I'm not ready, not yet. Please, please don't leave me!"_

While Gene muttered "Jesus  _effin'_ Christ..." behind her, Alex smiled reassuringly, putting her arm around the girl in order to slowly bring her to her feet.

" _What's your name?"_

" _Marie."_

It wouldn't be until later on that she realised how coincidental it all was.

" _It's going to be alright, Marie. We're not going to leave you."_

Helping the heavily pregnant girl into the back of the Quattro, Alex turned to glare at Gene, swiftly shutting him up on the subject of complaining about any 'gunk' making its way onto the leather. He huffed with exaggeration, slamming the door shut behind him and turning the car in the direction of the nearest hospital. All the way there Alex craned her head to gaze through the gap between the front seats, asking Marie to count the seconds between her contractions and encouraging her to breathe. To her surprise rather than being intent on testing the speed limit Gene drove with calm consideration, muttering a sincere  _"sorry, love"_ to Marie as they traversed over bumps in the road.

Not two hours later she found herself standing by the girl's bedside, hands in the back pockets of her jeans, a silly and sentimental smile on her face as she regarded the scene before her. There was a lovely amber glow in the room generated by one bedside and another taller standing lamp, significantly different from the silver sheen of starlight that had tailed them on the journey to the hospital but no less beautiful. Completely fitting for such a special moment, serenity casting a protective circle around the young newly-made mother and her precious babe in arms.

Alex leaned forward on the toes of her boots, drawn in by that wonderful, indescribable smell that she recalled with tears pricking at her eyes. The baby, who had been soundly asleep, squirmed his little limbs and blinked open his eyes of brilliant blue. She felt a jolt in her heart, an almost physical ache in her soul.

"He's beautiful," she murmured softly to Marie. The girl was intent as she lay in the bed, absolutely entranced with her son. Alex remembered her own immediate infatuation in the seconds after Molly was born, on an almost unbearably warm afternoon in summer.

"We're all girls in our family," Marie uttered, holding her little finger out and waving it in front of the child's sleepy gaze. "I don't 'ave a clue what to do with 'im."

"You'll pick it up quickly. It'll become second nature, like you've known it all along." She stopped herself from touching the baby, instead smoothing her hand against the starchy hospital bedsheets. "He'll have a very proud grandfather, I'm sure."

"Maybe if 'e hadn't thrown us both out on our ear. I'm too much of a disgrace for this one to get any benefit."

Alex's smile faltered for a moment, as she considered how everything wasn't quite so simple as she was making out. How could anyone look at that perfect little bundle and not fall helplessly in love? His little fist grabbed firmly onto his mother's finger, causing both women to laugh.

"Quite a grip on him," Alex commented.

In those few seconds she was reassured that Marie had more than enough strength to survive, caring for her son and herself on her own, while hoping that the tides might yet turn.

The baby gurgled, a sound of perfect peace and contentment. In that little hospital room it seemed to be all that surrounded, no space for anything else.

"I'll leave you both to get to know each other better."

Marie raised her head slowly, an exhausted but gracious smile upon her face.

"Thank you," the girl said in a steady voice before Alex could leave the room completely, "for not just walkin' by and leavin' us on the street."

It saddened her that Marie felt the need to express her gratitude for what was a common courtesy.

"And thank 'im for me and all."

She smiled thinking of Gene and how he was probably cursing her this very second for being a soppy tart and keeping them held back, even if he secretly enjoyed spending a little more time in the city that he used to call his.

"I will do. Merry Christmas, to both of you."

Having shut the door as softly as she could behind her she looked at her watch, thinking how they'd be cutting it fine even if they headed off now. Tea and milk rattled from the vending machine and she plucked one polystyrene cup after the other, tipping an obscene amount of packet sugars into one. Even as she stirred valiantly it all collected like sediment at the bottom of the cup, and she grimaced at the thought of drinking it.  _The man is a law unto himself, never mind a heart attack waiting to happen._

She walked with haste down the corridors, trying to ignore the way her skin prickled at the back of her neck at the clinical smells and atmosphere. Gene's broad back in his overcoat greeted her, sitting in a chair that was far too small for his imposing frame in a quiet waiting area.

He turned his nose up at the cup she proffered, looking far from impressed.

"Oh, come on," she exclaimed. The very least he could do was pretend to be grateful. "It has five sugars and everything, I counted. Although I dread to think what it'll do to your blood pressure."

"After the day I've 'ad I'm after somethin' a bit stronger." She glared at him as he rifled through his pockets. "Bugger, I've left all me hip flasks in the car."

"Oh no," her eyes darted upwards as she looked at him, "we've got to drive back to London tonight. You are not touching a drop of alcohol."

"Well, you're full of Christmas cheer," he huffed, trying to avoid her steely gaze. "A couple doesn't count. It's more of a crime to be entirely sober on Christmas Eve round these parts."

"Oh, and that's an excuse that will stand up in court, of course. God help you, you would not last five minutes in the future..."

"Alright, Charles Dickens, don't get your knickers in a twist. And don't look at me like I've got two 'eads."

"Fairly standard cultural reference, I suppose," she smiled wryly. He was more likely to have watched the films than read the book.

He held out a still-gloved hand. "Give it 'ere."

She winced again as she watched him knock back the contents of the small cup in one go, making a noise to signal his barely-quenched thirst once he had finished. In contrast, she sipped her sugarless tea carefully.

"Anyway, wouldn't be so bad bein' delayed. You worried the polo club wouldn't let yer back in if they knew you'd been up North for longer than 'alf an hour?"

"I have never played polo in my life."

"That's your present buggered then. And I didn't even keep the receipt."

He shot her a mischievous look, eyes twinkling like moonlight dancing on water, and she felt her insides turn into a puddle of goo. She chastised herself for her reaction, even though it was to no avail. There really was no hope left for her now, not when it came to him.

As they set foot outside again, neither of them were mistaken in finding fine specks of white drifting down from the sky. Regardless, Alex looked upwards, trying to judge how much snowfall was likely to be on the cards. The fact that it was pitch black hampered her attempts somewhat.

"Yes, Bolly, it's snowin'. What a bloody Christmas miracle. Now get yer arse in the car."

She shook the swiftly melting flakes from her hair, climbing into the passenger seat. He really did have no romance in his soul; trust her to pin all of her hopes on him when their ideals were poles apart.

"Mind if I turn the radio on?" she asked as they chugged along the road.

"If you must," was his gruff reply.

The pop music floated around the Quattro's interior, Alex resting against the seat. Closing her eyes she attempted to regress, losing herself in childhood memories and a time when she had felt safe; although looking back, she wasn't sure that she could find a time or a place in which she could summon the sacred feeling.

As strange as it seemed, this very moment appeared to be the closest she had got.

"Jesus," Gene's disgusted exclamation punctured her thoughts, "what in the 'ell is this shit?"

A smile started on her lips as she listened to the schmaltzy tune.

"Renee and Renato," she replied. "I don't know how you haven't heard it."

"Because, Bolly, I am not in the 'abit of listening to the musical equivalent of steaming turds."

She stifled a chuckle. "Oh, I don't think it's that bad. It has a certain charm."

The lyrics weren't exactly the finest that had ever been penned but they were rather sweet, in an obvious and almost-too-sugary manner. Ironic, really, considering his penchant for the stuff.

 _#Darling I will love you endlessly_  
Even though you're far away from me  
I can't forget the words I told you...#.

She turned her head so that he wouldn't catch her momentarily perturbed expression from the corner of his eye. This was all so ridiculous. Beyond that. One day soon she would wake up in a hospital bed of her own, not only miles but years away, surrounded by the  _real_  people whom she loved and who loved her back. A shudder went down her spine when she thought about Evan, the past he had kept a secret no longer so from her. She'd have Molly. She would always have Molly. She could never turn her back on her little girl, her own flesh and blood who she cherished with all of her heart and who she would never stop fighting for.

A lump had gathered in her throat and she sought to swallow it away, blaming it on some non-existent and dormant virus.

She'd go back eventually, but not before the year was out. It had been nearly eighteen months after all, a few more days wouldn't make any difference. Although, knowing her luck...

"Bloody Nora! If this goes on any longer me ears are gunna start bleedin'."

"It's number one in the charts, they must have done something right."

He took his eyes from the road for a second or two, unimpressed pout upon his face.

"Proves what I've always thought. That the general public are a bunch of dickheads."

Before the song could build to its crescendo, one gloved finger flicked off the switch of the radio, leaving them in silence once more.

"Thank Christ for that."

Nothing could be seen out of the window other than darkness and a flurry of white. Another melody started up in her head, inspired by the weather, and she bobbed from side to side.

_#Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling too  
_ _Come on it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you...#_

"You're getting to be a dab hand with babies and pregnancy," Alex remarked with a smirk after a few contemplative moments had passed. His answer was a solitary grunt. "Have you been in touch to see how Jackie's getting on?"

"No, I 'ave bloody well not! I've told yer a million times, the sprog isn't mine."

She scoffed. "Paternity has nothing to do with it. I thought you'd be interested, as a friend."

"The further I can stay away from that woman, the better." He turned them a little too sharply around a corner, the wheels of the Quattro missing the edge of the pavement by mere millimetres. "Anyway, dunno why you're so bothered. Thought you couldn't stand 'er."

_Only when I thought she was shagging you and it made me so insanely jealous that I couldn't bear it._

"I misjudged her. It can happen." She looked across to him, the passing glow from the orange streetlights framing his profile. She shifted in her seat as much as the fastened seatbelt would allow, squeezing her knees together. "Marie hadn't named the baby before I left her. I reckon that Manchester could have another little Gene on its hands."

A hint of a smile drifted across his face, hands in firm position upon the steering wheel. He did seem to have this unexplainable, powerful effect on the female of the species, no matter what the encounter. It was something she would be fascinated to study, though she wasn't sure she would ever find a definitive answer.

"She's a sweet kid," he uttered, speaking as though he'd come across a million Maries in his time. "Shouldn't 'ave been a shock, really. You'd be 'ard pressed to find three wise men around 'ere, never mind a bloody virgin."

Alex shook her head in barely feigned disbelief at his view of the situation and then smiled wistfully. God knows it had been hard enough for her and she had been a 'respectable' young wife, even if Pete didn't last out very long before he scarpered, leaving all responsibilities far behind him.

"She will be alright, won't she?"

She wasn't sure why Gene should have the answer, but somehow it didn't seem out of his league.

"Course she will," he replied, after thinking about it for a moment. "She's a Manc lass. None in the world are made from sterner stuff. You can take the Gene-Genie's word on that one, Bols."

She smiled, feeling reassured on Marie and her newborn son's behalf. Still she might offer up a prayer in the dead of night, hoping that her pleas might be listened to if they were for someone else other than herself.

"Christ on a bike, this is takin' the piss now."

The snow was coming down in steadier drifts, almost completely cloaking the windscreen.

"I never expect a white Christmas to actually happen."

Which was strange, really; if this  _was_  her fantasy then surely whatever she imagined would be the case.

Gene ignored her wonderings, swearing as the Quattro's wheels ground to a halt. The rest of the road was, rather unsurprisingly, empty, and yet a lone figure still patrolled, holding out an arm in front of him. When all was lost Gene shut off the car's engine, the Quattro seeming to sigh in relief that it wouldn't have to battle the blizzard any longer.

They got out in synchronisation, Alex zipping up her leather jacket to the collar. She really needed to invest in a decent winter coat, but was still reluctant to tempt fate.

The uniformed police officer caught sight of them and strolled over, a smile of recognition lighting his face as he looked upon Gene, not needing to take notice of the warrant card he was holding aloft.

"DCI Hunt," the young man exclaimed in a cheery tone, "PC Hawkins. This is a surprise, I thought you were in the big smoke now."

"Er, yeah, well got to pop up every now and then, see that things aren't goin' down the pan without me. Good to see yer again, Hawkins." It was evident that Gene didn't have a clue who the constable was, but his bluffing appeared to do the job well enough. "What's the story?"

"Storm's swept in from Scotland. Wasn't supposed to 'it us until New Year, and the worst 'asn't arrived yet." PC Hawkins cast his gaze between Gene and Alex, looking remorseful; he was sure to be on the receiving end of one hell of a bollocking for being the one who had to give the bad news to DCI Hunt. "We've been ordered to close all the roads off, for tonight at least."

The blaze of anger that both PC Hawkins and Alex expected to erupt from Gene dispersed with little more than a spark.

"No skin off my nose," he uttered, tapping a hand to the younger man's shoulder. "Sterlin' work, Constable. 'ave this to keep yerself warm."

PC Hawkins took the hip flask into both hands, paralysed less from the cold as from shock.

"Got plenty more where that came from."

"Blimey. Thankin' you very kindly, DCI Hunt. Happy Christmas."

Well, there was a Christmas miracle if she had ever seen one. The daze she felt at Gene's act of sudden and unprompted generosity quickly left her as the soft snow beneath her soles started to freeze her toes within her boots.

"But we've got to get back to London," she cried, her voice echoing in the silent and freezing night air. "We can't stay here all night, there's nowhere to go!"

"We 'aven't got much say in the matter, Bolly, not when Mother Nature is bein' a ragin' bitch."

She looked at him helplessly, trying to come up with a solution from the darkest depths of her brain. She was already stranded far from home with a man she both couldn't bear to be around or without, this was just taking it to another level.

He leant down to the barely open window of the Quattro, throwing the keys onto the dashboard.

"Can't stay in there," he told her when she looked at him as though he'd lost all control of his senses, "not if we want to live to see Christmas mornin'."

"Heaven forbid that I might pick up your precious car keys for a second, but you'll happily leave them on display for any passing stranger to see!" Her expression was incredulous as she stared at him, arms folded tight against her chest. "Aren't you worried it won't be here in the morning?"

He scoffed loudly at her reasoning. "We're not in Liverpool, Bolly. She'll be fine, don't you worry yer pretty 'ead about it."

She was so incensed at his reference to a bloody four-wheeled vehicle as a living, breathing person that she didn't notice him pointing into the near-distance.

"There yer go, light at the end of the tunnel. Relief for the weary travellers. What do I always say, Bols? If there's one place you can rely on, wherever you find yerself, then it's a pub."

She squinted against the flakes that continued to drift down, having to speed up to follow his strides.  _The Wayfarers Inn,_ the sign outside the rather pokey-looking establishment read. Of course; he was capable of sniffing out alcohol from as far as five miles away. Still, at least it advertised lodging; she could put up with rowdy booze-filled punters making a racket below for one night, and surely they would all have homes to go to before midnight arrived.

Several clouds of thick smoke assaulted the back of her throat on entering. Otherwise it looked quite nice, a bit on the obvious side perhaps. And so much bigger on the inside. Like the TARDIS. She might expect Peter Davison to pop out from behind the bar. Instead an older man with a very impressive set of sideboards manned the station instead.

" 'Scuse me, mate," Gene began, leaning an arm against the bar, "we're coppers, come up from London. Well, I'm a native, but this one's never been further north than Knightsbridge. And we were wonderin'..."

"If you're lookin' for rooms then I'm afraid I can't 'elp," the man quickly cut in. "Last one went just an 'alf-hour ago. We're all full, even to locals."

Alex couldn't stop herself from laughing aloud. " _No room at the inn._  Oh, I couldn't make this up if I tried. Or perhaps I just have." She stared with wide eyes at the landlord. "I suppose you've got a stable with a couple of donkeys and sheep out the back, and you could squeeze us in there if we're willing to sleep on the hay."

He looked blankly at her, sideboards twitching on his face in apparent confusion.

"Apologies for my colleague," Gene intervened, his head leaning in sympathetically, "we've spent 'alf the night at Manchester Infirmary and they still can't work out what's wrong with 'er."

"We don't 'ave any spare rooms, but you'd be welcome to spend the night," the landlord said, much to Gene's delight. "I'd be 'appy to throw a couple of drinks in, on the house."

"That is a very kind offer."

Alex waved a hand in front of Gene's face, if just to prove to herself that she hadn't been rendered invisible.

"I am not spending Christmas Eve draped on the tables of a pub!" She stage-whispered, trying to keep her voice down so as not to offend the owner. At her right side, a nearly-toothless man leant heavily upon the bar, tipping his pint glass and grinning at them.

"I've spent some of my best Christmases doin' just that," Gene replied. "Look, I know it's not what yer used to, but now is not the time to be actin' all high and mighty. We are close to bein' up Shit Creek and this is our canoe."

"A canoe that just so happens to be stocked full of booze," Alex rolled her eyes.

"For once in yer life, will you just shut yer trap and be grateful!" He quickly realised he might have overstepped the mark, snapping back into a calmer state of mind and his eyes softening. Either that or the alcohol that was being consumed by others was having a passive effect. "Look, they've got a saloon bar and everythin'."

She cast her gaze reluctantly towards the aforementioned bar, finding it less than impressive.

"I'd just rather not," she said, hoping to conclude the matter. She'd feel safe with him being there, there was little question about that, and the assorted drunks seemed pleasant enough. Still, it was a far cry from midnight mass. "Doesn't your mother live nearby?"

"Other side of town," he answered, looking less than comfortable. "Anyway if I turned up with you in tow I'd 'ave more questions fired at me than by the bloody Spanish Inquisition. And I really do not need that."

Feeling a touch offended by his implication she threw her head back to the ceiling. It was dangerous to leave him to his own devices for so long though, especially with so much temptation surrounding them.

"Well, looks like we need to go in search of a paddle, doesn't it?"

"Don't mean to interrupt..." the landlord piped up again.

"Please," Gene turned towards him, doing what he could to dodge her quietly burning gaze, "be my guest."

"There is somewhere that might have some space. It's about fifteen minutes from 'ere, once you get onto the main road. It's a lot bigger," he paused, looking at Alex specifically, "and it's not a boozer."

"I really didn't mean any offence," she explained, looking as earnest as she could.

"Cheers, mate," Gene said, turning up the collar on his overcoat. "Come on then, Fancy Knickers, better get a move on."

She followed behind him as he trundled through the streets, snow still tumbling from the sky and the blindingly bright star over their heads, appearing to guide them as they followed the directions the landlord had scribbled on the back of a beermat.

"Could 'ave been on me third pint by now if we'd stayed put," he grumbled, not turning back to look at her but just ploughing on.

"I'm sorry," she offered in a small but sincere voice, beginning to lose the feeling in her fingertips. "I'll buy you all the drinks you want when we get there."

He shook his head against the wind, and she could see little crystals melting against his crown.

"S'alright, Bolly. I'm used to bein' disappointed at this soddin' time of year."

She lowered her chin further down into her jacket, feeling shared sorrow as well as a keen curiosity for his lamenting.

"Well, bugger me sideways."

At the sound of his exclamation she looked up, finding with a little surprise that they had arrived at their destination. The hotel took up most of the length of the street, its hundreds of windows illuminated with light, throwing a reflection onto their shell-shocked faces.

"Have you been here before?" she asked him softly, considering that it was something of a stupid question as soon as she said it.

"What do you reckon, Bols? Been past a few times, felt like they'd bloody arrest me for even lookin' at it. The Midland's for posh knobs and out-of-towners, not hard-bitten bastards like meself."

She turned her head fully towards him in the starlight, glimpsing underneath the facade in the still quiet of the night that surrounded them.

"Though I s'pose me luck's in, walkin' in with you." He held an arm out, allowing her to take the lead in walking up the many steps to the hotel's entrance. "I'll let you do the talkin', Lady B. They'll lose their minds hearin' that plummy voice of yours, think Her Majesty 'as sent you especially for an inspection."

She let out a half-dismissive laugh, the heels of her boots clicking loudly on the polished marble floor as he followed in tow, their positions reversed. She smiled towards the young receptionist somewhat exaggeratedly, feeling rather intimidated herself by the lavish decor and gold gilting that was everywhere.

"Hello," she said, subconsciously clipping her vowels, "my colleague and I have been stranded by the blasted snowstorm, and we've searched  _everywhere_ for somewhere to stay for the night. I'm worried that if we go much further we'll end up freezing to death!"

The receptionist smiled politely, stifling a giggle as Alex let go instead, her inhibitions having disappeared along with most of the heat in her body.

"It might be out of the question, of course, but I don't suppose you have any vacancies?"

"Well, we are  _extremely_ busy, what with it being Christmas and all," the young woman pursed her lips to keep smiling, "but I can certainly check. One moment."

"Oh, thank you," Alex beamed, "you'd be our guardian angel if you could find something!"

She felt Gene's eyes upon her, a bemused expression upon his face.

_Excuse me, Hunt, but I may just be saving us from getting hypothermia here._

"We do have a room," the receptionist informed them after a few moments searching, "but it is just the one room. If that would cause a problem at all..."

"Since you mention it, love..."

"Not a problem at all," Alex quickly cut across Gene, her eyes warning him to stay quiet and her arms barring him from cutting short the exchange at the desk.

Perhaps he was more of a prude than she'd had him down for, or otherwise he felt so uncomfortable staying in such a place that he'd rather retreat back to safer ground. But surely, staying in an actual hotel room was far preferable to perching yourself on a bar stool for the night.

"It's one of our best rooms," the young woman told them airily. "As it is last minute, the rate is a little more than it would usually be. It's £350 for the night."

" 'ow much?" Gene bellowed, his shout reverberating around the otherwise empty reception.

"£350, sir," the receptionist helpfully repeated. "I'm afraid given the lateness of the booking we won't be able to accept instalment payment either."

"Bleedin' hellfire."

"It's fine," Alex said, undoing the zip on one of her jacket pockets. "I'm sure I have a card on me..."

"No," Gene stepped forward, taking his wallet out of the inside pocket of his coat, "I'll pay."

"If you insist," Alex replied in almost a whisper, leaning back on her heels as he handed over the total in notes to the receptionist, who smiled graciously and supplied them both with a key.

They walked in silence to the lift, Alex pressing the button for the fourth floor when the door closed behind them.

"Three hundred and fifty quid, just to get yer head down for the night," he continued to complain as the lift propelled them upwards. "I'm expectin' a gold-plated bog for that bloody price."

"At least we'll be warm and comfortable," she replied, looking over her shoulder towards him as the doors slid open, welcoming them to a plush corridor lined with rooms.

"I would 'ave kept you warm, Bolly. Even if we might not 'ave been very comfortable."

She wished she wouldn't have got flutterings in her stomach at his insinuations, his warm breath on the back of her neck causing further electric tingles to race through into her bloodstream, but she seemed incapable of controlling her reactions when it came to him anymore. And she even found herself wondering about the possibilities that had passed them by.

There was no point in thinking upon them now, and anyway, she was confident that this was the right option after all.

"We could 'ave kipped at that pub for the price of a few ales. All I'm sayin' is that you owe me big time, Bols."

She paused to turn towards him as she put the key into the lock of Room 407. "Alright. I'll be your personal slave for a day when we get back to work. Is that what you want to hear?"

His eyes flickered down from hers to stare at her lips. At this point he wasn't even being subtle, not that it was ever one of his finer points.

"Somethin' along those lines would do quite nicely."

She shook her head, pushing the door open. It glided along the thick-pile carpet, dimmed lights flickering into life. It didn't take long at all to see why it was deemed the best room in the establishment; indeed, it was more of a suite, with its own dining and seating area and en-suite bathroom. They looked terribly small standing in it, considering they had no luggage and only the clothes that were on their backs.

Gene had plopped himself down into a chair, already ridding himself of his boots, leaving her to do the rest of the exploration. She walked through into the bedroom, hovering for a moment on the threshold, hand held to her mouth to see what was before her, quite plain.

Perhaps there was another little room hidden elsewhere. She wandered to the white shuttered doors inside, just to check, but found only wardrobe space.

_Shit, if he wasn't mad enough already, he'll be absolutely fuming now._

"Gene?" she called after hesitating for a few moments. "There's a slight problem..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Save Your Love sung by Renee and Renato and written by Johnny Edward and Sue Edward. As it was Christmas Number One in 1982 I had to do a shout-out. Sleigh Ride is one of my Christmas favourites, though I'd much prefer a ride in the Quattro.


	2. Chapter 2

"Bloody 'ell, what is it now? Don't tell me they've forgot the caviar."

She chewed her lip as she waited for him to survey the scene, her insides turning over. It was a beautiful room, much grander than they really needed for an overnight stay. The phrase  _'beggars can't be choosers'_ didn't fit, somehow.

And yet the fact remained true, no matter how hard they stared.

There was one bed. A gorgeously-furnished king-size bed, but just the one.

It was certainly big enough for the both of them. Alex felt her cheeks burn as she considered the possibility of sharing a bed with Gene. The night being so perilously cold meaning that she'd almost definitely need to cuddle against him for warmth, press her body right up against his.  _Actually, the duvet looks like it would do the job just fine. But that's not what you want, is it?_

They were away from their usual surroundings, and for all intents and purposes were still at work. She needed to be professional, and put those incredibly distracting thoughts out of her head.

"I should have checked before we took it," she said, fumbling for excuses and turning herself towards where he was standing next to her on the threshold of the room, "I just assumed that it would be a twin room, and that's what they meant by 'just the one'."

"Maybe she thought we were...y'know...together."

His voice sounded huskier when he uttered the word, causing her body to almost short-circuit.

"I made it quite clear that we were colleagues," she stuttered out, hastily.

"Alright, sweetheart," he huffed, the disdain clear in his tone, "you're not exactly my cup of tea either."

She couldn't look at him, felt herself being rejected even though she had been the one to pour water onto the flames. For the good of the both of them, she should point out.

"I suppose given that we've already paid that it's too late to change now..."

Her hand went into her hair, cursing inwardly at the predicament they found themselves in. Bloody Tommy Smithers, choosing Christmas as the ideal time for a jailbreak. Bloody snow that couldn't wait a couple of days longer to come down. Since when did it ever snow at Christmas anyway? Not once that she could remember in her life.

"Calm down, Bols," he said, sounding different yet again, "we've got a nice-looking chair, I can kip there. Christ, I'm so knackered that I could probably do it standin' up."

She read something else in his words, mentally slapping herself on the wrists.  _Naughty Alex; stop it. You know that this is all psychosomatic?_

Yes, absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was rugged and rumpled and utterly gorgeous, whichever way he came.

_Oh god, don't even get me started on thinking about that..._

"We can think about all that bollocks later," he continued, steel-blue eyes burning a hole through her without even being aware. "I dunno about you, Bolly, but I am starvin'. I could eat a scabby horse, with the 'ead for starters."

She pulled a face as her own stomach grumbled softly, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything since about midday.

"I'm sure they'll have something far more appetising on the menu," she remarked, picking up the sheet of paper detailing room service. "Steak sandwich and chips, sounds perfect."

"And 'ow much is that gunna cost? We'll get three courses at the restaurant, value for money. I intend to feel the benefit of every bleedin' penny that's bein' rung from me."

"It's gone ten, they won't be serving anyone new this late."

"I'll bloody well make sure they do. Show them me warrant card, they can't argue with that. And if they try, they can get served a Gene-Genie special."

She flopped down onto the bed, her fingers digging into her scalp. She really didn't have the energy for another argument, not with how long this day had been.

"Let's just stay here. I don't really care how much it costs."

"Yeah, 'cause you're not the one payin'." Oh, here we go; considering he'd racked up an almighty tab in Luigi's that he hadn't even started to put loose change towards she knew he was going to hold this over her forever. "Anyway,  _I'm_  the one who's gunna stick out like a sore bloody thumb, you'd be right at home with all the Hooray Henrys and Henriettas. Although considerin' how ashamed you are to be seen with me, I shouldn't be surprised..."

Shame was the last thing she felt when she was with him, and it wounded her deeply that he could think of her having such narrow-minded preoccupations. Perhaps if she had a greater grasp on her sanity then she would have had more reservation, but everything that had played out in the past many months proved to her that he was the most noble man she had ever known. She was ashamed of what had come before, or technically after, but never of him.

"Oh for God's sake, I'm sharing a bedroom with you, aren't I? If anyone checked the records they'd see that, and I couldn't care less what they thought of it!"

Her frustration came out in an impetuous fluster, along with other emotions that were only just breaking the surface before she could clamp them down again. He was silent as he stared back at her and she could tell that he was trying to figure her out. She'd worn him out at every attempt to do so, the undefeated champion at her own game; it was just as well that he didn't have persistence in that particular area, drowned his efforts and soothed the ache in his brain with a bottle of wine or several glasses of scotch.

She'd pleaded with him once to let her in. If only he knew how much she wanted to do the same, to confess everything and tell him who she really was without any risk or repercussion. The fear of him finding her out kept her awake at night, hanging by the thinnest of threads.

"I'm just...I'm just tired," she offered as way of a more rational explanation. She was always  _so tired_. "All I want is to stay here, have something to eat and then go to bed. Besides, I look such a fright that I think I'd put everyone off their desserts."

His gaze was intent as it lingered upon her, raking up from the boots she hadn't yet taken off, past her jean-clad legs and her torso up to her face. He wouldn't stop staring, and she felt herself both wanting to disappear and to never escape, to have him looking at her with what she hoped she read accurately as deepest desire for the rest of time.

"Yer kiddin', Bols," he said, eventually breaking the almost painful silence. "You'd be the tastiest thing there. But 'ave it your way."

She had fantasies of him dropping to his knees in front of her, taking her ankles into his large hands. The sound of the zips holding the boots to her feet would be almost sensual as they came undone, and then his fingers would be on her soles and curving around her heels, causing her back to arch like a cat at his touch, steadily taking away all of her aches and pains, those eyes looking up at her as she purred her satisfaction.

Instead he picked up the piece of paper she'd left at the foot of the bed, ordering in steak sandwich and chips twice, seeing to the more essential of needs.

After devouring the food – and staring at Gene as he savoured what was on his plate – there remained just one thing on her mind. She felt grubby from the day but forewent a shower, being too exhausted for it. Not to mention that she had no change of clothes.

Two fluffy robes hung in the wardrobe and she plucked one of them out, glancing over her shoulder as she pinned it against her body. Self-consciousness possessed her, even with the lights turned down low. She took her jacket off, slinging it over the back of the chair that sat at the dresser, and looked at where her hands were resting at the hem of her jumper.

"Don't stop on my account, Bolly."

His voice came out of the blue, which was ridiculous as she couldn't fail to be aware of his presence, particularly not at such close quarters.

She smiled somewhat awkwardly towards him, fully dressed except for his overcoat and those distinctive snakeskin boots that she always imagined he would sleep in.

"I...erm..." she began haltingly, the faculty of speech failing her as she appeared to be completely absorbed by him and all the power he possessed.  _Natural magnetism_ , he'd no doubt call it.

They'd been closer than this before. Drenched in sweat as they sat gasping for air in a secret government vault, in a greater state of undress than they were now. It hadn't been a game at the time but she could laugh about it now.  _You show me yours, I'll show you mine_. Perhaps she was lying when she swore she hadn't done anything to keep them trapped there. She couldn't remember the last time she could honestly say she'd been thinking straight.

"It's alright, I'm not gunna perv at you." Everything about him, his eyes and the way he was standing, told of his sincerity. She could trust him completely to be the gentleman.  _More's the pity._ "I'll just..."

He made to turn, not quite leaving the room.

"It's going to be too hot to sleep in this," she explained to his back, "but too cold to just be in my...could we do a swap? If I can have your shirt, I'll give you the robe."

He turned to face her again, his brow furrowed at another of her demands.

"Bleedin' hell. Always thought you'd 'ave the shirt off me back if you wanted it, but I didn't quite expect this."

She counted the seconds turning into minutes in her head, intending to keep staring down at her feet. Why she had become so shy all of a sudden she couldn't quite say. She gazed up to find him stripped of his jacket and shirt, though he still wore a vest that was tucked into his trousers. Another ensemble that she was sure she would find impossible to classify as desirable on anyone other than him.

Her breath became shorter as she looked at him with his head bent forward, hair obscuring his vision, making him vulnerable. She had the pleasure of seeing how broad his shoulders were as they were bared – he always filled his suits so well but now she realised that it wasn't the clothes giving him an advantage. His arms were leaner than she imagined but taut and muscular, and she could glimpse a hint of belly hidden beneath the vest. Not as much of a surprise given his lifestyle, but she found it endearing and attractive. There was something disconcerting and definitely egotistical about men with washboard stomachs. She found herself taken with the urge to pad over towards him, poking her finger just above his navel. It would likely piss him off no end but the image she had conjured up in her mind was enough to give her a fuzzy feeling in all of her limbs.

"Any time you want to stop gawpin', Bols."

He'd caught her off guard again, and she shook herself mentally, reaching out to take the shirt from his proffered hand.

"Thank you," she said, shucking off her jumper and jeans once he had his back to her again, hands stuffed into pockets.

It occurred to her as she climbed into the bed that she hadn't exactly thought this through properly. She was draped in Gene's shirt, his scent clinging to her, and yet he was sitting in the chair a few feet from the bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. It amused her to see him in the white fluffy robe, as though he was dressed especially for the occasion.

"I didn't expect to be spending Christmas Eve like this," she murmured from the pillow, her head almost edging off the side of the bed.

"Me neither," he replied, leaning back on the chair and stretching himself out even further. "At least Luigi'll be 'appy that 'e got to knock off early for a change."

"Yes," she smiled, and giggled to herself as she imagined for a moment that the Italian was hiding a secret identity, climbing onto the roof of the trattoria and boarding a waiting sleigh. She wasn't sure whether reindeer would be able to feast on pizza and pasta rather than the standard carrots.

Having run out of things to say to one another – at least anything that wouldn't take one of them completely by surprise – Gene turned off the last remaining light in the room, throwing it into darkness. The change always unsettled her but she felt easier tonight, knowing that he was there.

"Night, Bols. See yer in the mornin'."

"Good night, Gene," she echoed back. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"No bloody chance of that, not when I'm kippin' in a chair!"

She let out a soft laugh, turning herself so that she had her back to him. She lay there for a few moments, getting used to the dark and the pillows that were a bit softer than she was normally used to.

"Bolly?" His voice sounded out again. "We're off to church in the mornin', right?"

She shifted around again, taken aback by what he had said.

"Umm, I suppose we could see..."

His deep chuckle gave him away as it erupted from his chest. "I'm pullin' yer leg, Bols. More chance of me bein' at bloody Old Trafford than in the 'ouse of God. Even if it is his kid's birthday."

* * *

She slept fitfully, waking when it was still pitch black, able to make out the silhouttes of the objects in the room the longer her eyes focused. Her dreams had been pleasant ones, for once. Molly had been there, she was about six or seven years old. She had been tearing through the presents under the tree, unveiling them with the glow of the fairy lights adding to the pure excitement in her eyes. When the one that was at the top of her list had been discovered she rushed over to give Alex a hug, almost crushing the breath out of her with the force of it. She held her daughter close, sniffing the mint-scent of the shampoo that had covered her hair the night before and still lingered.

" _Mummy, this is just what I asked for! How did Santa remember?"_

" _He has lots of elves to help him. But he also has a special list of all the girls and boys that have been extra good. And he might have let me know that Molly Drake was very near to the top of that list."_

Her daughter giggled as she cupped her hands around her little face.

" _I hope you get what you ask for, Mummy. Because you're the best Mummy there is."_

Then she had been the same age as her daughter had been, sitting more sensibly cross-legged beneath the tree as her mother passed presents to her one by one, her father sitting and watching from the armchair opposite.

" _You can stand up for this one, Alex. It's quite big."_

She got to her feet, conscientious as she tore pieces from the wrapping paper that covered her final present. She remembered being a bit confused at what it was supposed to be, and asked her mother that much.

" _It's a dressing-up box, Lex. You can put all of your nicest outfits in there, or some of your toys if you like."_

Her mother's smile was wide as she reached to undo the clasp, flipping back the lid.

" _Or, if you like, you can climb in there and pretend that you're disappearing. Somewhere that nobody will ever find you..."_

She was gasping for breath when she woke, though she didn't make a sound and the tears had dried from her eyes. She had lay on her back for a while, convincing herself that she wasn't being held captive in that wooden box, until she became uncomfortable in that position and finding herself wanting to seek comfort from another source.

The room was silent so she didn't feel that she would be disturbing him. Unless of course she had been mistaken and he wasn't prone to snoring but instead was as quiet as a mouse when he slept.

"Gene? Are you awake?"

There was no response to her gentle call of his name or her question. After a few moments had passed, she tried again.

"Gene?"

"Yes, Bols."

"Were you asleep?"

"No," he uttered gruffly. "I wanted to see 'ow far you were willin' to go to get me attention."

"You give up easily then," she replied, smiling against the pillow, and trying not to ponder for too long about the lengths she might have gone to.

"Or I just can't take you prattlin' on any longer."

She peered through the shadows that cloaked them, thinking to herself that it couldn't possibly be comfortable for him to attempt to sleep twisted in the chair like that, at least not for the whole night.

"Why are you awake, then? You waitin' for Father Christmas to come down the chimney and jingle his bells for yer?"

She laughed almost too raucously, reining herself in so as to not cause a commotion amongst the other guests.

"I had some vivid dreams."

"Jesus, now I wish I 'adn't asked. Unless I'm still awake in an 'our or so, then you can quite 'appily tell me every detail and bore me to sleep."

Of course, he wouldn't understand the significance. But then she didn't want him to. As silence fell again she pondered whether that was why she was so drawn to him; because he was the polar opposite of everything she'd ever thought she'd wanted. A break from the norm. He  _was_ intellectual, as much as he'd fight – quite literally – to deny the fact. You had to be in this profession and especially to succeed in the way he had done. The longer she was around him the more she was able to see underneath the rough surface. It's a shame really; he probably had incredible insights to offer into her state of mind, if he could just let the act drop for longer than a minute. So far from easy to define.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" she huffed, surprising herself at her outburst.

His head had flicked up, and she didn't need the power of incredible sight to know that he was pouting at her incredulously.

"Just get in here."

_How very subtle. You might as well have said "I'm begging for you to ravish me, Gene."_

"Not sure that sharin' a bed with you is gunna do anythin' to help matters, Bolly."

"Well, I'm not going to talk at you all night, that's for certain." She ran her hand along the duvet, edging it down as further invitation.

"I...er...I dunno."

The Gene-Genie, shy? It was unexpected and yet attracted her even more.

She was never one to back down from a battle of wills between them, not even in the middle of the night.

"You can see the size of it. We won't even be in the same postcode."

Letting her eyes close again, she decided she had given it her best shot. If he was going to be stubborn then it was his own stupid fault, and he couldn't blame her for not offering the option when he had an aching neck and sore back and was even grumpier than usual in the morning.

She was pleasantly surprised to feel the duvet lift and the mattress sag a few minutes later.

"One of these days you'll just let me be, woman."

A smile covered her lips and a fire rose from the pit of her stomach. She blinked in the darkness, the vacated chair in her line of vision. On the floor lay the discarded robe, along with his trousers and belt, which trailed over the floor like a snake.

She suddenly felt hotter knowing that he had shed so much, if not  _everything_.

Then again she was still wearing his shirt, which was creased to buggery – as he'd put it – with all of the tossing and turning she had done. She'd iron it in the morning, feeling as though she shouldn't reduce herself to such obvious and demeaning tasks but wanting to do so all the same. It was so domestic, even if it would be a game of pretend.

Perhaps this was a bad idea after all. She certainly couldn't envisage herself dropping back off to sleep anytime soon. This is what she had dreamed about – quite literally, on a few occasions. She couldn't hear any evidence of him being asleep and it only caused the thoughts to race at a greater speed around her head.

It could be an accident. She'd nudge her foot against his leg, feeling the solidness of his calf. The heat of his skin. She'd lift her head from the pillow and mumble a quiet 'sorry', except it'd do nothing to appease him. He'd move like a shot, looming over her, pinning her to the bed with his arms and legs, allowing her no leeway except to stare up at him.  _No need to play footsie, Bols._ She could feel the weight of him sinking onto her, so deliciously, tearing a wanton moan from her throat as he pressed down gradually.  _If yer want the Gene-Genie, all you need to do is say..._

She turned over, seeing him laid out on the other end of the bed, his back to her. He looked to be as stiff as a board.

_Except I only want one part of him to be stiff..._

_For Christ's sake, Alex._ This was the last thing she needed, to be lying in bed with her boss and feeling hornier than she'd ever done in her life. On Christmas Eve, of all times.

If he was going to initiate things, he would have done so as soon as they'd made it inside. She was almost certain of that. Except she'd come to the conclusion that he wasn't as straight-forward as he made out.

She closed her eyes again and told herself to stay put. Count sheep. Remember all of the reindeer's names in order.

 _Go to sleep, Alex._ Her mother's voice was enough to douse the desire that had nearly completely claimed her.  _Else the morning will never get here._

She'd never told Molly that. One year she remembered staying up with her on the sofa, waking up at gone two o'clock and having to carry her up to bed and then hurry back downstairs to lay out all of the presents.

" _What did you ask for, Mummy?"_

There she was again, a little older this time, wearing pyjamas with snowflakes all over them.

" _I can't tell you that, Molls. You can't say it out loud."_

" _Write it down then."_ She pushed a piece of paper and envelope towards her.  _"There's still time for it to get to Santa."_

"Too late..."

" _I'll take it there myself. Santa can't forget about you."_

"Molls, no...don't go away, please."

She was deep in sleep, succumbed to the illusions her mind had cast. Her little girl, lost to her; her greatest wish still not coming true, no matter if she looked to the brightest of stars.

She was so deep that she didn't feel the hand touching her shoulder, a stroke softer than the fall of a feather.

"Bolly? You alright?"

" _Mummy. Don't be sad, Mummy. Not on Christmas_."

"I'm not...I mean, I'll try...I can't see you, where have you gone?"

"Eh? I'm right 'ere, Bols."

_"I'm here, Mummy. Let's play hide and seek!"_

If only she could be in two places at once.

* * *

The room was bright with daylight when she woke. She rubbed sleep from her eyes, stretched out in the vast bed. A moment's confusion faded quickly into a feeling of luxuriousness; she had never slept somewhere so plush and doubted she would do ever again, regardless of Gene's endless teasing about her social status.

 _Gene. He'd slept there too._ Of course it wasn't what she had imagined in truthfully saying that she had slept with Gene Hunt; the absolutely innocent definition of the word.

She tipped her chin down, sniffing into the shirt that clothed her. He was always there, so persistent, even when she couldn't see him. She knew that she'd never be able to escape him, wherever she ended up – back in her own time or somewhere else entirely. His 'side' of the bed was still rumpled; she ran her hand over the imprint of where he had lay, an ache setting itself up in her chest as though he had vanished into thin air.

She didn't want to begin to think about what life here would be like if he deserted her. It would be entirely impossible.

"Yer up, Sleepin' Beauty."

As though he had some kind of sixth sense he strutted back into the room, standing by the window.

She felt bashful suddenly, even if he didn't  _mean_  anything by it. Running a hand to the back of her scalp she was partly horrified to feel the extent of her bed-head hair.

"Did you get much sleep in the end?"

He shrugged his shoulders, parting the curtains with his fingers. "A couple of 'ours or so. Doesn't matter, I'll sleep when I'm dead."

She liked to think that perhaps the child within him was stirred by the excitement of the season, but doubted that was really the case.

"Snowstorm 'as stopped anyway. Looks like the veritable winter wonderland out there."

She considered getting up to see for herself, but she was just too cosy.

"I bet it's beautiful," she sighed, voice still hoarse from sleep.

"There's stupid sods daft enough to be out in it. Grown bloody men, prancin' about!"

"They're probably caught up in the Christmas magic."

"Dunno about that, but they're on something for sure. It's white and cold enough to freeze the bollocks off yer. What else does anyone need to know?"

She shook her head as he continued to stare at the scenes outside, four floors beneath their warm and comfortable room, snow-filtered sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtains.

A knock at the door interrupted the peaceful silence, making her nearly jump out of her skin. Their eyes met, a hint of a smile coming onto Gene's face as he took his time striding back across the floor, disappearing momentarily while he opened the door.

Alex strained her neck to try and see, even though it was impossible for her to glance round corners, especially in her current position.

"Took the liberty of orderin' somethin' for you. Good job yer woke up when you did, else I'm not sure I could 'ave been 'eld responsible for not polishin' the lot off."

He perched on the end of the bed, clad again in white fluffy robe, presenting her with one of the two silver trays. As she lifted the covering lid she was filled with genuine surprise, touched by the gesture.

"Oh, Gene!" she exclaimed, eyes wide at what was before her. "This is...it's lovely."

The platter was quite something to behold. Smoked salmon, poached eggs, tons of toast with butter and marmalade and jam for afters.

"Tuck in," he ordered. "And if you think yer gettin' any of mine then you are bloody well mistaken."

She smiled at him from beneath her eyelashes, picking up her knife and fork daintly, hesitating, and finally placing them back down and following his lead, tearing a piece of toast between her fingers and poking it in one of the eggs.

"You do know that yer talk in yer sleep?"

A flush of heat rose into her cheeks, not unaware of the habit she'd had for most of her life but always completely oblivious as to what she might have divulged.

"It's terribly rude to talk with your mouth full," she teased him back, thoroughly amused by the grimace on his face. "Hopefully I didn't say anything too embarrassing."

"I couldn't make 'ead nor bloody tail of it. So just the standard, Bolly."

She suspected that he was joking around to spare her feelings, but she was grateful for his doing so all the same.

Here they were again, sharing a meal. In the past twelve hours they'd done arguably two of the most intimate things two people could do together, and there had hardly been any fuss about it.

"Is this 'ow Christmas in Bolly-land typically kicks off then?" he questioned, finishing off the last slice of his toast with a generous helping of strawberry jam slathered over it.

"I wish," she replied, rolling up a sliver of salmon. "It's usually a croissant with a handful of chocolates from the Quality Street tin. Actually, we do presents before breakfast. Always presents first, otherwise Molly wouldn't be best pleased."

His gaze dropped from her to the scrunched-up duvet that was half covering her, and she felt terribly guilty. He was trying to do something thoughtful – something inexplicably out-of-character – and she was just making things awkward.

As if she hadn't done enough of that already.

"I'm sorry, Bols," he uttered quietly, so far removed from his usual bluster. "I know where you'd rather be right now. This isn't much of a bloody substitute."

Tears had begun to prick at her eyes, and she shook her head swiftly to allow them to disperse.

"You don't need to apologise," she said stoically, the sinking in her heart still apparent but not half as bad as it had been the year before.

He raised his eyes to hers gradually and the bolt she received from looking into their silvery steel was almost enough to send her flying forward into his arms.

Her senses calmed themselves, a smirk curling her lips at the corners.

"Anyway," she sighed, "I'm rather used to not getting what I want at this time of year."

It wasn't entirely exclusive, she thought sadly but without feeling too sorry for herself.

He scoffed at that. "I don't believe for a ruddy second that you've 'ad anythin' but yer own way, all the bleedin' time."

"You'd be surprised."

She could come up with numerous instances. All of the presents she'd longed for that her parents had never bought. Evan had gone out of his way but by then everything had lost its shine. Pete had been bloody hopeless. One year she had not only got an iron but a hand-held vacuum cleaner and a sodding foot-spa to match. The holy trinity of truly thoughtless gifts.

"Can't be too 'ard," he commented, depositing both their finished trays on the floor and shifting himself on the bed, inching closer towards where she lay. "Let's see. Lipstick for that unstoppable gob of yours. A new pair of jeans so small that a bloody Barbie doll would 'ave a time sprayin' them on."

She chuckled at his observations; unquestionably he knew her tastes much better in the space of months than Pete had in all their years of courtship and marriage.

He stared at her unswervingly as he went on, raising one hand in the air to count off the items.

"Somethin' to do with psychiatry, obviously."

" _Obviously_ ," she only half-mockingly quoted.

He waved his extended hand to the side, clearly thinking he'd done well enough.

"And a crate of Sauvi-whatever it's called when it's at 'ome." He leaned back, planting both fists into the mattress. "There, reckon I've ticked yer entire wishlist off."

She nodded approvingly. "Not too bad at all, DCI Hunt. Your observation skills really aren't to be contested."

He let out a grunt, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "Next year, Bolly. I can put the word about to a few places. Your perfect bloody Christmas, and no need for any bastard snow."

She smiled at him and his earnest expression that lay not too far beneath all the bravado. The breath felt too tight caught within her lungs, her fingers felt fuzzy with static. Almost as though she was close to hyperventilating. All this from simply looking at him, amber caught in a swirling dance with blue.  _No, Alex, don't let your eyes drop...damn, too late._ Those lips of his. Far too irresistible. Downright and positively kissable. So she'd imagined, oh, only a thousand different times.

It was now or never, she considered. Christmas was a time for being honest, wasn't it? Showing how much you cared.

God knows she couldn't wait another twelve months to arrive at the same point, or alternatively to feel even further out of her mind.

"There's only one thing I want this year," she began, resisting the urge to bite down firmly on her bottom lip, feeling his eyes upon her, daring her to continue.

_Just let me do this, without any intervention._

"You," she uttered, the word almost being too easy to say. To compensate, she'd make it clearer still. "I want  _you_ , Gene."

His expression remained unmoved, his eyes perhaps flashing for a second or two that she could tell. Alex cursed herself momentarily, suspecting that she'd made a wrong move. Blame the change of scenery, the festive spirit urging her on.

She watched the bob of his throat before he spoke, feeling as though she was hanging on a wire with nothing to break her fall.

"If this is your idea of returnin' the favour," he began, shifting himself atop the sheets, "then you don't 'ave to bother. I didn't really buy you anythin'."

"No." Before she was aware her hand had reached out, grasping onto his wrist and causing him to flinch for a moment before he softened to the touch of her skin against his. "It's nothing to do with that or today...or anything, other than the truth of it. I want you, Gene."

After the first time it was so much easier, and she almost felt like that she'd never be able to stop saying it.

"I really do."

She felt the start of a giddy smile upon her lips as she had finally confessed her deepest desire, which she had first fought against and then pretended she did not possess, until she had resigned herself to keeping it a secret – as well as remaining incredibly frustrated.

It was amazingly liberating. For the first time since she'd found herself here, she felt like she could take on and do anything.

Gene included. At least, she bloody well  _hoped_.

The same couldn't be said for him, although she often wondered whether the varieties of pout he wore came as a substitute.

"Well, you might 'ave bloody said so sooner! All this arsin' about, I could 'ave been in all of your frilly knickers ten times over by now, Bolly."

If she was in a better state of mind then she would have slapped him for being so presumptious. As it was, she couldn't stop herself from grinning.

"There never seemed to be a right time."

He huffed incredulously, clearly thinking otherwise. "You mean a time when you weren't as pissed as a fart. Lucky that one of us knows when to stop."

She glanced down, self-conscious. She couldn't remember all that much after a certain point in proceedings of last year. Surely he would have let her know about it if she had come onto him after one or two too many bottles of wine, he'd have spent months making sure that she hadn't forgotten. Instead there had been no digs or smutty remarks, only sympathetic glances whenever someone happened to mention the upcoming season.

It occurred to her that he'd never been anything but a gentleman towards her, even if to the rest of the world it appeared that he was wearing a carefully-crafted disguise, enough to fool anyone.

He was still staring at her, holding her with his gaze as though she was the only thing that mattered. When he looked at her like that she didn't need elaborate words or heartfelt confessions. It took all of her resolve not to drag him by his hair towards her and kiss the life out of him, leaving just enough left to sustain them both.

"This isn't exactly what I'd planned, either," she uttered, thinking of the lengths she had gone to to make this year better.

His brows raised. "You crafty mare, Bols. I can bet you 'ad a whole operation planned."

"Oh, certainly. Operation Tinsel," she smirked. "Cheese and wine. A tree in the corner of the room. Turkey with all of the trimmings."

"Includin' a good stuffin'?"

The rasp in his voice sent shivers careening all over her.

"That's my favourite part," she chirped, knowing that they'd gone way past the point of pretending to play it cool, even if a part of her still couldn't believe what she was hearing from herself.

Gene nodded in lascivious approval, eyes burning a fierce blaze.

She let out a small chuckle, breaking the sultry mood for a moment.

"Although if you ever told anyone..."

He interrupted her swiftly. "You'd what? Stamp on me 'ead? I'd like to see you try, Bollykecks."

"I'm only trying to protect your male pride," she said with another coquettish smile.

His hair appeared to glisten in the muted sunlight that fell against the still-closed curtains, exaggerated to her as he shook his head. "They all think we've been at it for ages. Suits me to let people believe you lured me with your tarty ways."

He took on an innocent expression as he feigned helplessness.

"Oh, the poor defenceless DCI. How could anyone fail to believe you?"

"Not such an unlikely story when 'e's got a downright bloody irresistible DI for company."

Alex felt her breath hitch as he moved closer to her, his arms planted either side of her, their noses almost touching.

"Dressed like a prossie. What did you expect, Alex? If the rest of them 'adn't been around I would 'ave carried yer straight into me office and ripped the ridiculously skimpy clothes off yer."

Her heart could have burst from her chest at that very moment, the fantasies wild in her mind as she thought about how very differently their first encounter could have gone. She remembered vividly being overwhelmed by him then and it was a thousand times more powerful now, now that she had got further to really knowing him.

She heard their hearts beating in tandem, the sound filling her ears and giving her reason to keep living. His breath upon her face, making her pulse race even harder. Though she wanted desperately to hold on, to keep the battle up until the very last second, she couldn't stop her eyes from fluttering closed, waiting in desperate anticipation to feel his lips pressed to hers at long last, purely because they both yearned for it. She half imagined that she might need resuscitation if it was left any longer.

"Bolly."

The two syllables were uttered like an apology, and she searched his face with her gaze as he pulled back from her. Whatever had made him hesitate whilst they were on the thinnest of precipices, she imagined that it must have been her fault.

"Gene," she said his name as though it were a prayer, and she supposed that he had been that for her, amongst many other things. "What is it?"

He sighed heavily before he looked at her again, eyes still hazed with lust but tempered with something else too.

"Nothin'," he replied, not entirely helpfully but neither was it unexpected. "You know what the trouble is with you, Bols? You make me think of stuff that's never occurred to me before. I blame that ruddy brain of yours, it's so big for your 'ead that it's got to lean on me an' all."

She giggled softly. "I can only apologise. Now, do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

"Bleedin' hell, so this is what it's gunna be like?" He paused, taking a steadying breath before deciding to unburden himself, to some degree. "What you were sayin', about me and Jackie..."

"Oh, god," she couldn't curtail her outburst, "there  _was_  something between you, once."

"Stop bloody jumpin' to conclusions, woman!" He sounded dangerously close to being very pissed off with her. "No, there was never anythin' goin' on. I mean, she is a woman of good taste so obviously she fancied me, but it never would 'ave worked. She's mouthier than you, and that's bloody sayin' somethin'."

Alex shook her head, pretending to be offended but the smile she could barely keep hidden gave the facade away.

He cleared his throat, beginning again. "Anyway, what you said, about us bein' friends...well, y'see, the thing is... _fuck's sake_."

His hand was twisted tight into his hair; baring his soul in such a way was far from easy for him, and she understood this too well.

"It's okay," she said in a soft, low tone, moving her hand across the duvet so that it brushed against his long fingers. "Take your time."

Her eyes were as gentle as her voice and her touch, and after a few moments of silence he visibly relaxed.

"I've never really 'ad friends, Bols," he admitted, looking rather shameful at the fact. "I mean, yeah there's Ray and Chris but most of the time they're takin' orders from me, and usually because they're shit scared of what'll 'appen otherwise. And there's people that I drink with from back 'ere, but that means sod all."

She smiled empathetically, feeling that she wasn't too far from being the same.

"First person I could ever really call a friend was Tyler. Not that I ever said as much to 'im. Bloody fairy, didn't want 'im to get the wrong idea. Gene Hunt is  _not_  into blokes."

"You don't need to reaffirm your sexuality to me," she uttered, and then thought that she wasn't going to do anything to stop him if he did have the sudden urge.

As though he was able to read her thoughts, he flashed her a mischievous smile.

"And now there's you, Bolly, and you 'ave the honour of bein' the second."

Somehow that affected her deeper than any other suggestive remark or searing look that had ever passed between them.

"I'm flattered, Gene. I really am."

He managed a brief twitch of his lips, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the curve of her hand.

"But I don't want to fuck it up. Feels like there's too much at stake, Bols. Even if I do 'ave the ragin' horn every time I so much as look at yer."

She smiled, thankful for the unexpected confession of his innermost emotions, feeling that such instances would still be rare.

"Please, don't worry," she said, doing what she could to reassure him and unable to bring the wild fluttering in her chest and stomach to a standstill. "I've always considered that the best relationships are rooted in friendship first." She laughed a little, breaking gaze with him for a couple of seconds. "That's why my ex-husband and I never stood a chance."

"Good," he said simply, eyes flitting from her lips to her eyes and back down again, causing her to feel completely hypnotised. "If you breathe a word of what I've just said then I really will 'ave to stamp on yer 'ead."

She suppressed a giggle in the back of her throat, hooded eyes turning as serious as she could make them whilst she was so enflamed with desire.

"Understood," she lengthened the word on her tongue, pouting her lips deliberately. "I can play at being your 'bit of stuff'."

His gaze darkened, a frown momentarily marking his expression.

"Yer so much more than that, Bols." He moved closer to her again, whole seconds seeming to vanish into thin air. "Believe me."

"Always," she whispered as their foreheads touched, his hand claiming her cheek. She looked up, taking in one last glimpse of those eyes, even more dazzling at such close proximity, before she simply had to surrender.

His touch alone caused sparks to rush through her, the temporary loss of sight heightening her other senses. The caress of fingertips so tender upon her skin that it made her want to cry. Nothing had ever felt like this.

And then there was his kiss. Lips pressing lightly, experimentally against hers. It wasn't like she had fantasised so many times that she had lost count, but it was  _wonderful_. He let her feel every moment and she yielded to him immediately, opening her mouth in invitation. He accepted gladly, tongue teasing against her lips, testing that bit further. She heard herself moaning in appreciation as the kiss deepened and he smiled against her mouth in response to her wanton reaction. Breathless, utterly so, but she didn't care. If she was going to die then she had little choice in the matter, and the agency she did have screamed that she wanted to spend her last moments kissing Gene, wrapped in his embrace as she fell into sweet oblivion.

Every fibre of her body was pulsing with life as they drew apart, somewhat reluctantly. She hadn't completely realised that she had tangled her fingers into his hair and smirked at the outcome of her actions, finding it ruffled every which way.  _God, he is gorgeous_.

Feeling far too warm, she shucked the duvet down the bed, feeling his eager gaze on her body.

"I think it's time for unwrapping now," she uttered huskily, placing her arms by her sides, leaving everything up to him.

His hands landed upon her after a moment or two of silent appreciation, sweeping up from her hips, tracing her body through the fabric and leaving soft static in their wake. Alex bit down on her bottom lip, suppressing a moan as Gene's fingers mapped her collarbone, dipping to open the buttons on his shirt one by one. Her stomach tightened as he brushed newly exposed patches of her skin, turning more sensitive the lower down he journeyed.

The shirt fell to the floor and he hissed through his teeth.

"Sweet Jesus, Bolly," he muttered, drinking in the sight of her in bra and knickers. "Best bloody present I've ever 'ad, bar none."

She wished for a moment that she would have had the foresight to pick out something better, the ivory set not being anything particularly spectacular. Though really, she had very little reason to fret.

He got rid of the robe hastily before placing his hands back on her, and she was very happy to discover him naked underneath aside from a pair of black boxers. She couldn't resist a peek downwards and her mouth went dry at the healthy bulge that filled the front.  _Oh Alex, seems like you're in for quite the treat yourself._

"You" – he caught her lips with quick kisses as his palms covered her encased breasts – "are" – his mouth moved to her throat, nipping gently – "absolutely fuckin'  _beautiful_."

The rasp of his voice, the feel of his lips and tongue trailing the column of her neck, his hands stroking at her back were almost too much for her to handle in combination but at the same time nowhere near enough.

He unclipped her bra with ease, sliding the straps from her shoulders and casting it to his side without a second thought. His mouth rained kisses down on her, leaving no place untouched, allowing his hands to wander to her hips, her thighs, getting closer still.

"Oh, Gene," she gasped, her back arching and her head lolling as he refused to let up for even the briefest of moments.

She reached out blindly, touching his burning skin, hands roaming him. As much as she tried, as eager to please as she was, it was nothing compared to everything he was doing to her.

"Lie back, love," he rasped in her ear, half pushing her down against the sheets before his hands rediscovered their previous path on her body, ridding her of her underwear as well as his own.

Alex could do nothing but happily obey, electricity dancing on the surface of her bared skin and the ache between her legs almost unbearable. His body pressed the length of hers, his lips branding her and his right hand reading her utmost need. Starlight mingled with tears in her eyes, her very soul feeling radiant.

"Glad we waited now," he uttered, dotting kisses over her before rearing upwards, pinning her underneath him as their foreheads met, "seein' as we're up 'ere, you're gunna get the full Gene-Genie experience. No holds barred."

* * *

Never in her wildest dreams would she have conjured up the Christmas Day that she ended up experiencing. It couldn't have been further away from the last; the only similarity was that she had been in Gene's arms at some point, except this year she had been crying in ecstasy rather than sorrow.

She half-imagined that she would never recover, her breath taking considerable time to even out after they had reached their blissful ends. Her mind felt separate from her body, her nerves fizzing as she stared at him through hazy eyes. The full Gene-Genie experience had certainly not disappointed – it had been more than well worth the wait – and she decided that she would allow the smug bastard look to linger on his face, considering how amazing he had made her feel.

It was half an hour later that she realised with some panic that they were due to check out of the hotel in the space of not much longer. Gene told her in no uncertain terms to calm down, pulling on the robe he had discarded before passion took hold and said he'd sort them out for another night. Not for the first time she was astounded, the question of where he was getting the money he'd previously complained about shelling out stopped before she could ask it with a fierce kiss to her lips, a thrilling reminder of what had not long passed.

" _It's Christmas, Bolly. I'll worry about it later. Anyway, after that, yer bloody well deserve it."_

She snuggled herself down beneath the covers while he disappeared downstairs, pondering how it should be possible that lust could so quickly move into something so much deeper. What she had felt within, the connection between them as they came together, had been entirely new to her but also completely undeniable, and she found herself bathed in the glow that had been created by it.

The day only got better as it went on, to her absolute delight. They decamped from the hotel to return to the pub they had left behind the previous night, offering the craggy barkeep wide smiles and ordering two Christmas dinners, plates overflowing. A good couple of hours spent doing nothing more than sitting, watching the flames dance in the hearth and listening to the merry singing of the gleeful occupants who did a rather good job of the three carols they repeated to infinity.

After that they walked, Gene sacrificing his coat so that she could wear it instead, retrieving the Quattro from her overnight stop-over. Though there had been no more of it falling, a blanket of snow still covered everything and the streets she imagined to be worn away and washed out at their edges instead looked perfectly picturesque. He whisked them through the city, taking her on a tour of Manchester in the snow which culminated on top of a hill, the horizon stretching out in front of them while they shared a hip-flask's worth of scotch in little sips.

The serious drinking was left for when they made it back to the hotel for the night, but not so much that they'd be useless. She giggled, full of joy as she managed to pull him to his feet for a dance in the empty hall, only the barman left to look on at their tipsy swaying to terribly cheesy Christmas songs. Her head rested on Gene's shoulder when the music took a slower turn and she felt wonderfully safe in the circle of his arms as he held her tight to him, silently vowing never to let go.

 _# Peace on Earth, can it be?  
_ _Years from now, perhaps we'll see_  
See the day of glory  
See the day when men of goodwill  
Live in peace, live in peace again #

It didn't take long for them to retire back to their room, arms round one another and lips meeting before they'd even closed the door. They made love several times, turning and twisting, kissing and caressing, absolutely lost in one another. Ending up in each other's embrace in the dark, the lightness in her heart was interrupted by the worry that this would all fade once they headed back South, the barriers put up between them once more. She needn't have fretted for long. Her murmur of his name against his chest - much softer than it had been a couple of hours previously - was met with his hand caressing her arm and his lips burrowing in the crook of her neck.

_"Don't worry, love. I never do things by 'alves, and I'm not about to start now."_

Alex was daydreaming about it all as she sat at her desk, her mind and her heart some two hundred miles away though her body was back in London. It was the day after Boxing Day and Fenchurch East was back in business after the brief break to observe the season. As Gene was so keen to tell them all, scum didn't give a shit about turkey sandwiches and leftover mince pies. No rest for the wicked, at least not for too long.

She stared towards the closed door of his office, singing festive melodies to prevent herself from moaning aloud, thinking of Gene on top of her, covering her head to toe in kisses, his hands skimming her body like an instrument only he had the skill to play.

"Ma'am?"

There was a soft voice and a tap on her shoulder, shaking her out of her self-imposed reverie. Shaz's smile was as polite and unimposing as ever, well-used to her superior's strange turns.

"You looked a million miles away."

"Not quite that many," Alex replied, lifting her chin from where it had been propped on her palm and straightening her stance. "Did you have a nice Christmas, Shaz?"

"It was lovely, thanks," the younger woman replied with an enthusiastic smile and her tone rising. "We were at my mum and dad's, and it was just dead traditional, like it was when I was little. I brought Chris round."

They both looked across the room to see Chris and Ray engaging in a rubber-band fight. It might have been blamed on the hangover from the holiday that had just been, but Alex knew that explaining all of their childish behaviour away was perhaps a little too kind. Still she had no problem believing that DC Skelton had played the part of the respectable boyfriend perfectly well just days before, and he always doted so thoroughly on Shaz. Having dodged a band that had flew towards his face he grinned over towards her, the look of love clear in his eyes.

"What about you, Ma'am? I hope you had a good one."

She wasn't doing much better than Chris at putting on a poker face at that moment in time, a flush of colour reddening her cheeks as she just about managed to keep looking at Shaz straight.

"Yes," she said, sounding as calm as she possibly could, "it was...different. But it was very nice."

"Me and Chris tried to phone, but we couldn't get hold of you or the Guv," Shaz said, a crafty smile breaking through on her face. "It was like you'd both disappeared off the face of the earth."

Alex could read the look in the younger woman's eyes and knew that she wouldn't be able to do much to dissuade her from the thoughts that she'd obviously already conjured up.

"Well, we're both still here, so no need to worry."

It was at that point that Gene emerged from his lair, making a characteristic entrance.

"Right," he barked, "I do not believe for one bloody minute that all of London's criminals 'ave sodded off to the North Pole on their bastard holidays. There's got to be somethin' 'appening out there and I want to know about it. Raymondo?"

Ray turned his head, lowering the rubber band between his finger and thumb.

"Umm, there's nothin', Guv. Reckon they 'ave all buggered off, at least until after New Year."

Gene shook his head in disbelief, planting his hands in his pockets and pausing for a moment or two before a lightbulb moment occurred.

"Perfect time to catch up on the backlog of paperwork, then."

A collective groan went around the CID office, everyone hoping that the lack of action would mean that they could all slink off to Luigi's to let the Christmas spirits flow once again, belatedly.

"DI Drake," Gene's voice rose up again, his eyes blazing as they set towards her, "you can do the worst of it. Get your scrawny arse in my office, pronto."

She let out a little sigh as she got up from her desk, determined that she would keep a show of pretence in place. Business as usual, as if nothing ever happened; at least that would be the case in front of prying eyes.

And yet a chorus of calls and wolf whistles rang out around the room as she arrived underneath the frame of the door. Both of them were momentarily perplexed, looking at one another in puzzlement, before Alex noticed Ray pointing upwards with a lascivious grin on his face.

"Ah," she said faintly, directing Gene's attention to the sprig of mistletoe that was pinned above the opening to his office.

Considering she was the only one who was ever specifically summoned there, there was little doubt as to the reasoning behind the adornment, the only remotely Christmassy thing in CID aside from a couple of garish red and gold foil stars that hung from the ceiling.

"Which one of you dippy sods put that there?" Gene demanded to know, and Alex was only surprised that he hadn't torn it down with his bare hands seconds after discovering it.

The room stayed silent, nobody wanting to own up in case they faced the wrath of the Guv.

"It's tradition, that is," Ray concluded helpfully, looking round to the rest of the team with a knowing look, "bad luck if you don't do what's expected."

Alex held her hands behind her back, side-eyeing Gene as he looked out disparagingly to the collective, pout firmly in place on his lips. He turned towards her, impassive for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders.

"If it'll bloody shut the rest of you up," he exclaimed. "I'm game if you are, Bolly."

Before she could do more than tentatively nod her response he had grasped her by the waist, pulling her bodily to him and crashing his lips to hers. The whoops and shouts of "get in there, Guv" went round again, but Alex was a little too preoccupied to pay much attention to them.

She had been expecting nothing more than a peck, enough to please the crowd for the rest of the afternoon. Instead Gene went on, kissing her fervently and reminding her of what had happened in the hotel room that had been like a makeshift home for a little time. His tongue slipped into her mouth and his hands moved down to her arse, giving it a firm grope.

The noise in the room had gradually lessened, until there was stunned silence as he finally relinquished his grip on her, smirking a little at her dazed expression.

"Well, you're all detectives, aren't yer?" he said, breaking the echoing absence of sound. "Work that one out, while there's nothin' else doin'."

Alex leant her back against the door after he had slammed it shut behind the both of them, her cheeks burning. He, however, was the picture of nonchalance, reclining in his seat and taking a casual sip from the tumbler at his side.

"So it's hardly a secret anymore," she said, walking to his desk and perching on the edge, still somewhat surprised he had decided to be so forthcoming.

"There's a difference between sounding like a right ponce and takin' matters into yer hands," he offered, his gaze dipping down less than subtly. "I don't do well at hidin', Bols. Anyway, it's New Year's Eve soon enough and I wanna give yer a proper snog when Big Ben gives 'is bongs, without any of that lot kickin' off about it."

A smile crept onto her lips, finding that she couldn't exactly stay annoyed with him for such a flagrant display, not when she could barely keep her hands off him as it was.

She stood up briefly, only to land in his lap after a few seconds, draping her arms about his neck.

"That's all very well and good, DCI Hunt, but I hope you're not planning on keeping us at Luigi's all night." She toyed with his tie, lacing it between her fingers and loosening the knot, her fingers creeping beneath the collar of his shirt. "Because I was thinking that we might create some fireworks of our own."

His eyes lit up as he glanced up towards her, a delicious smirk written clear upon his face as she wriggled against him.

"Careful, Bolly," he warned her, "I've got a rocket right 'ere that's in danger of goin' off if you carry on much longer."

Alex peered down, straining to stop a gratified smile from emerging. Her hand moved to the nape of his neck and she leaned her mouth to his ear.

"And I still owe you a rummage through my stockings."

" _Jesus..._ " he growled deep in his throat, his hand smoothing up the hem of her skirt to the lacy hold-ups that lay beneath.

She giggled, capturing his lips again before he could get any naughtier – though she was rather hoping that he would regardless.

If Christmas had been anything to go by, then 1983 was going to be quite the year indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was fun! I'm sure there are many fireworks in store for those two, regardless of the time of year.
> 
> The refrain from Peace On Earth/Little Drummer Boy written and sung by the one and only David Bowie. It was released in November 1982, so I had to use it, aside from the other obvious reason. Everything is relevant, after all ;)


End file.
